Page 74 of Raising Love
“Hmph,” I muttered to myself. “I thought we told them to put anything labeled ‘baby’ in the nursery.”
Leo and I had given the movers clear instructions when they brought everything to Greene Gardens. Kendra and Tyrell had already packed most of their belongings, planning to move in after their baby shower and right before Baby Love was born. The apartment they left behind required minimal handling—Leo and I closed out the lease and ensured everything was tied up.
At the Greene Gardens house, we told the movers to pile everything in the walk-in closet except for the boxes marked “baby,” which were supposed to go straight into the nursery. But somehow, this one hadn’t made it.
“I guess I’m starting with you,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the label.
It felt like the logical place to begin. Anything for the baby could be useful now or in the near future.
I sank onto the closet floor, the plush carpet cushioning my knees as I began pulling at the box’s taped tabs. It was tightly sealed, but I managed to pry it open after a little struggle.
Inside, I found packaged onesies, a blank photo album, baby books, and a long strip of ultrasound photos.
The sight of the ultrasound photos stopped me cold.
I remembered them vividly—Kendra’s way of announcing her pregnancy to Leo and me. My eyes had bugged out when she presented the pictures, her joy infectious. I’d been excited for her, but I’d also felt a pang of fear.
I worried the baby would change things between us, pulling her away from our friendship. So many women I knew had drifted away after becoming mothers, consumed by the demands of their new lives. I feared I’d lose her to late-night feedings and playdates.
I exhaled, shaking off the memory, and continued unpacking.
As I worked through the items in the box, my hand landed on a Moleskine notebook. I grabbed it by the cover, intending to set it aside, but something stopped me.
Words.
Written in Kendra’s handwriting were paragraphs of sentences that spilled out when the book fell open on the carpeted floor.
Curiosity drew my eyes to the page.
I can’t believe in just a few months we’ll meet our little miracle. This journey has been nothing short of magic, filled with dreams of little footsteps that will soon echo through our home.
The sentence hit me like a wave, halting my movements.
She kept a journal?
I didn’t even know she liked journaling.
I lifted the notebook, holding it in my lap. As I flipped through the pages, I realized this wasn’t just a random journal. It was intentional. A diary documenting her pregnancy. These pages held Kendra’s deepest thoughts—things she’d never shared with me.
Her fears about labor. The quiet anxiety every time she went to the bathroom, praying she wouldn’t see blood. Her excitement and joy about becoming a mother.
I skimmed over her entries, smiling at her words, stopping to read sections that tugged at me more.
Then I turned to a page near the end of the journal.
If we have a girl, Tyrell and I decided we’d name her Violet. It’s pretty and classy like Ivy, and contains four important letters. Vi and Le. Letters in Ivy and Leo. It’s a little piece of our friends’ names, whose support has meant the world to me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my jaw dropping.
My eyes moved down the page to the next section.
If it’s a boy, Levi it is. It’s strong but soft, just like Leo. It also has both the first letters of their godparents’ names. I hope he grows up with Leo’s strength and Ivy’s grace.
I pressed the journal against my chest, shutting my eyes tightly as tears escaped, sliding down my cheeks.
“Levi,” I whispered, tasting the name. “I love it.”
I had thought I’d never know what Kendra and Tyrell wanted to name their baby. They’d kept it a secret, wanting it to be a surprise. Finding the journal—and their chosen names—felt like a gift I hadn’t expected.
